I write from sunset
Of the fall of seven thousand years
From the decline of a civilization
Poetry Death, Break Wing
I write about youth
From the past green vein
From Damavand Mountain
From the unwritten book
The color of this last year
Lag
Like honest suicide
Of the sadness of pride
I am under your feet.
You keep me alive.
Of you fifth -century poetry
Rustam
You keep me alive.
I am your identity
My home -made soil
That I broke out of your silence
